Tonight is the night when all souls leap from the shadows
Behind frosted glass and wicked arches they hide
They leap they scurry they fly upon the dark winds of the night.
And tonight clouds reign above the orange yellow sun
And everything turns murky as little faces peer through the looking glass
And into which they see the marks on the wood
The faces between trees, between shadows
And the house down the lane is alight
Alight with the spirits that roam this Halloween.
Happy Halloween!!! 🎃👻📚
It’s the day where I’m thinking back on my visit to the city which I took Thursday night, and I can see the whole weekend stretching ahead of me with open arms. Here’s a toast to infinity. A toast to weekends. And a toast to precious, dreamless waking! For the weekends are my infinity… And the weekday is like a dream, waking from it but always still half-asleep. As an author, always dreaming.
She put her head down towards the ground, muddied, bloodied, a skull weighing fifty ton more than it ought to. The vein on her forehead throbbed as her migraine returned, the one that returned every autumn with a vengeance. Yet now, all she could see were the black-laced branches above her. Howling, screaming, the trees looked like ashes against the stark gray backdrop of the sky. And as she sat there, she heard the wind rattling the bare bones of the trees. They were calling her name. She knew that.
They were telling her to leave this place and never come back.
Peace is rare to keep.
It is the sound the heart sows
For silence to sleep.
Do you ever write something and worry that you’ll be put into a psychiatric ward after publishing it? Is that the sign of a good story or a strange mind?
Sometimes little things
Make you scream
Like mean little pictures
And the lights of the day
Ranging from orange till black
Make you hear all the things
In the dark
Which go CRACK.
…and you know you hear someone
At the window? At the door?
And you feel some whispering you didn’t feel
And the words gape open
Like an old man’s snore
And he wishes you
That: Happy Hallow’s Eve.
Just a cute Halloween poem. 🙂
Waking up on a Saturday morning is wonderful. I can get work done. I can smell a fresh cup of coffee brewing downstairs and I’m already hungry and imagining a decadently fluffy stack of pancakes calling my name. And the best part is that I feel so relaxed, rejuvenated, and ready to take on this day with a pen in one hand and life-giving coffee in the other!
Sometimes you ask where your writing road is headed.
Sometimes you don’t see the road.
And other times you’re cryptic and the road is a method of philosophic means to get across a deep point that nobody wants to hear.
Happy Friday. 🙂
Have you ever had a deja vu moment? I had one yesterday and it was surreal. Of course, being superstitious (and a writer), I had to figure out why immediately. So I went online (the mother load of true knowledge- forget the Library of Alexandria) and saw everything from para psychologists to reincarnation. Who knows? Life’s pretty interesting that way.
Wait, I swear I’ve had this moment before…
It’s true. I believe I’m an introvert, at least, I think I am one. I don’t talk much and parties definitely drain me. The only way I can feel outgoing is by drinking two cups of coffee, but then I’m so hyper that I barely hear what I have to say. But writing is so much easier. I can think for long periods of time without the conversations going stale. It’s beautiful. It’s a conversation between the paper and me, no anxiety in-between.
Do you guys identify more with introversion or extroversion?
It’s cool if nobody answers. I’ll just sit in a corner and read a book to recharge. (Introverted humor.)